]]>https://violetisonline.com/2018/11/19/a-poem-4/feed/9cremevioletonlineisonlineMeg Wolitzer wouldn’t mindhttps://violetisonline.com/2018/11/12/meg-wolitzer-wouldnt-mind/
https://violetisonline.com/2018/11/12/meg-wolitzer-wouldnt-mind/#commentsMon, 12 Nov 2018 13:02:52 +0000http://violetisonline.com/?p=11611Continue reading Meg Wolitzer wouldn’t mind]]>I left a book in an airport trolley a few days ago and as soon as I realised, felt totally devastated.I had about sixty pages to go, it was a wonderful book and I was completely and utterly engrossed.

‘Can you believe no-one wants to lend me their book,’ I said.‘Buncha cunts.’

Meg Wolitzer, by the way, uses the word cunt a lot in her book.It’s kind of why I love her.

‘Violet,’ she said very quietly.‘Remember the Joan Didion I lent you?I don’t think you’ve given it back yet.’

‘It’s next to my bed darling.I will return it.Why? Are you in a hurry?’

‘Uh, no, just a gentle reminder.’

And then I stopped dead in my tracks.

I remembered a book I had borrowed from a woman in my yoga class. It was following a conversation and she’d said:-

‘Oh Violet, you must read this book it’s brilliant, I have a very special copy, it’s old and fragile.But please borrow it.’

Thank you so much, I had said, and of course I will give it back to you.

Shit, I suddenly thought. I’d had the book for months and hadn’t read it.Or returned it.Or even seen it for a while. Shit shit shit.

I jumped off the couch and started looking.

Frantically.

I found lots of other interesting things including the silver bullet vibrator that I thought was long gone and how lovely it was still charged and amazing, but – nope, no book.

It was nowhere to be found.

And I realised what I had done.

A little pavement library popped up in my neighbourhood a few months ago and I’d taken a pile of books to put inside it.And I didn’t mean to, and I hadn’t realised I had done it, but – her book was in my pile.

The pavement library works on a ‘help yourself’ basis.Take anything you want.Replace if you can.Enjoy.Read. Take another one.

The book is long gone and I have no way of tracking it down.

I am one of those cunts, just like Meg Wolitzer says.

I cannot put out another alert on Facebook, I will lose the few friends I have left.

And I am frantically looking for a copy online.

It’s called ‘The Sunburned Queen,’ author Hazel Crampton.

I cannot tell you if it’s good or not, I haven’t read it.

And while you’re at it, ‘The Female Persuasion.’

In case you find either of them. I promise I’ll look after them.

I am a terrible person to lend things to.

It’s not acceptable, I know.

But this is a cry for help…

]]>https://violetisonline.com/2018/11/12/meg-wolitzer-wouldnt-mind/feed/11Megvioletonlineisonlinepick a bookThings I lovehttps://violetisonline.com/2018/11/11/things-i-love-3/
https://violetisonline.com/2018/11/11/things-i-love-3/#commentsSun, 11 Nov 2018 16:51:46 +0000http://violetisonline.com/?p=11604Continue reading Things I love]]>It’s been a while since I wrote and I do want to write again but am somehow struggling. So I thought I would write a list because lists are easy and maybe this list will get me going.

And I thought I could write a list about the things I love, like travelling then coming back home again. Walking and talking in the park. Walking and not talking at all. Champagne. Group chats that are about champagne. Flirtations. My new sexy slip that I bought and it cost me a fortune and I hope I get to wear it with somebody, soon. Or at least, take it off for somebody, soon. Leftover cake. The sun. Poetry.

And writing.

And the thing with writing is that it takes discipline. I often mess around and I write bits and pieces and I have a million notebooks and I start something and I stop and I get distracted or I think I cannot do it and I have a chapter here and two chapters there and there is no cohesion and I go back to writing lists of all the things I love.

Like:-

Neighbourhood walks.

Caramel Crunch Ice Cream.

Going barefoot.

Thunderstorms

My dog who is on anti depressants.

My other dog who is not.

A really good book.

Erotica.

Sunrises and sunsets.

Yoga, and that I can finally do the perfect Tree Pose.

Tree Pose.

Letting go.

And writing.

And I wrote this quickly but I just bolded all the bits about writing because that is what this is all about really. Writing. And how much I love it. And miss it.

I launched into every little dagga story I’ve ever had including cookies that I ate once by mistake, other cookies that my housekeeper had eaten by mistake, the joint I took on a hike and hid in my socks and then lost my socks, and oh god I called it dagga and nobody calls it dagga anymore, it’s weed, it’s cannabis, it’s marijuana, Violet why don’t you just shut up sometimes, they grow fucking marijuana they don’t need your silly stories from a hundred years ago.

‘Are you gonna have a meth lab too?’ I asked.

‘Maybe,’ they laughed.

I laughed too.

Hahahahahahahahaha.

They asked me what I did.

‘I write about sex,’ I told them. ‘Sometimes I also have it.’

‘Like an escort agency? You’re a hooker? A sex worker?’

Oh god, this was not going well.

No no, but sex and sex toys and men and women and I was blabbering like crazy again.

They were looking at me. Quizzically.

‘Oops I have a deadline,’ I said.

I left.

They grow marijuana.
They may have a meth lab.
They think I’m a hooker.
I used the words dagga.
I made a total fool of myself.

I’m gonna miss my old neighbours.

Still. It’s gonna be great.

New people in the hood.

Marijuana.

Maybe a little meth.

We’re gonna get high.

Welcome!

Thank god I’ve met my deadlines.

]]>https://violetisonline.com/2018/10/08/neighbours/feed/11violetonlineisonlineimagesBody Languagehttps://violetisonline.com/2018/09/14/body-language/
https://violetisonline.com/2018/09/14/body-language/#commentsFri, 14 Sep 2018 10:18:45 +0000http://violetisonline.com/?p=11564Continue reading Body Language]]>Yesterday I went to my lovely and local beauty Spa for a mani / pedi. I was lying back, my feet were being scrubbed, we were chatting, having fun, choosing colours, when suddenly a gorgeous guy walked in.

Gorgeous but definitely dodgy.

I tensed immediately. I thought about my phone lying there in full view of any thief, as well as my purse. All of us women had stuff splayed all over the place.

We were women, armed only with body scrubs, cuticle oils and nail polishes.

He approached the hair stylist. She was between appointments, sitting on the couch, her gorgeous legs splayed out in front of her, her tattoo clearly visible on her right thigh.

Her right thigh clearly visible.

He sat in front of her. Didn’t ask if he could, didn’t say anything, just took a seat.

Like a boss. A dodgy one.

She was cool.

My nail therapist was also cool.

So I chose to be cool too. Well, semi cool. My heart was pounding and my exfoliated toes trembling, if just a little.

I surreptitiously moved my phone, pushed my bag under the chair and armed myself with a nail polish.

Vinylux. Fire Engine Red.

The stylist didn’t move. She didn’t shift position, didn’t pull her dress down over her thigh, didn’t show that she was in fact not cool in the least.

They had a conversation. We couldn’t hear much except she was so calm, we thought oh, maybe she does know him after all.

She didn’t. But her confidence, the way she looked him in the eye when he spoke, her street-smart demeanour, her swag, her savvy and her body language, clearly got to him.

He left. And when he left, she breathed out. She told us she’d been aware of his every movement, his every word, his every intention. She’d been watching him like a hawk. And had he tried anything, she told us, ANYTHING, she was ready to punch him so hard.

Apparently she has a great punch.

I learned something yesterday.

Not to show fear. Not to show vulnerability in those kind of situations. And to meet the guy on his own level, whatever that means.

Also, to keep my phone tucked away at all times.

I’m going back now for a wax. This time I’m prepared.

I have swag.

I have practiced my punch.

I still have the red nail polish.

And the wax will be very fucking hot.

]]>https://violetisonline.com/2018/09/14/body-language/feed/18Strong-confident-woman_copyvioletonlineisonlineDust, Water, Valium and Me.https://violetisonline.com/2018/08/30/dust-water-valium-and-me/
https://violetisonline.com/2018/08/30/dust-water-valium-and-me/#commentsThu, 30 Aug 2018 12:19:55 +0000http://violetisonline.com/?p=11559Continue reading Dust, Water, Valium and Me.]]>I’m doing a renovation. It’s a small one that’s turned into a big one. Having builders is not so much fun. I’ve done it before and I’d forgotten about the dust, the dusty footprints, the doorbell that doesn’t stop, more dust, asthma from the dust, banging, clanging, screwing, drilling and drama.

But this is not about building. Because I know at the end of this, and the end is in sight, it is going to be DIVINE.

This is about energy.

I think good energy brings more good energy. When I’m in a good mood, stuff around me is good.

And when I’m in a bad mood, it is not.

I have been in a bad mood since the building started.

I was in such a bad mood that the entire water supply in my suburb, and all the surrounding suburbs, dried up for over forty-eight hours. Two full days without water. Thousands of people, probably hundreds of thousands, affected.

Not a single drop.

Disastrous on so many levels. And I had to take the blame.

My bad energy caused the disaster.

And then I was in SUCH a bad mood from the no water and no bathing and no coffee and being filthy and not being able to wash dishes or work OR BUILD, that I got into an even worse mood.

I became thunderous.

And then my washing machine gave in, so did my fibre optics, the dog escaped, the gate broke, I had an attempted robbery and the dust, the fucking dust, it all became too much.

And I cried my way around the grocery store looking for bottled water, any water, but of course, there was a water frenzy and I was not the only one crying.

Also, nobody blamed me, haha, THEY DIDN’T KNOW.

But sweet goddesses, everybody had good energy.

Neighbours. Community. Friends.

Even builders.

We found water. We shared water. We didn’t fight over water. We kind of laughed over it too.

And then a friend DID MY WASHING. She came over, picked it up, washed everything including my underwear, and bought it back. The same friend bought me a whole lot of water. And valium. Other friends listened to me rant and rave and weep and vent and they just nodded and said ja.

Ja.

To be honest I wasn’t a complete disaster either. I helped people who were worse off than me.

And my energy changed.

And then the water came back.

And the gate got fixed and so did the stupid washing machine even though I was hoping my friend would do my washing forever but nah. The dust is diminishing and my building looks amazing and it’s all going to be okay.

We might change plans, maybe fill in the bathtub and include a couple of sunken wells.

Because it will happen again.

There are water crises all over the world.

And most of them are not even my fault.

Glass of water?

Anyone?

]]>https://violetisonline.com/2018/08/30/dust-water-valium-and-me/feed/10watervioletonlineisonlineA volunteer in Vaughantownhttps://violetisonline.com/2018/08/25/a-volunteer-in-vaughantown/
https://violetisonline.com/2018/08/25/a-volunteer-in-vaughantown/#commentsSat, 25 Aug 2018 13:15:03 +0000http://violetisonline.com/?p=11545Continue reading A volunteer in Vaughantown]]>I didn’t think I was a group person. The idea of getting on a bus with a whole bunch of strangers has never appealed to me. But a friend had recommended I do the English / Spanish immersion program in Spain, via Vaughantown, and so I impulsively signed up.

‘You’ll love it,’ she told me. ‘It’s an amazing way to see Spain, meet people, have fun, and on the side, improve your Spanish.

The whole idea of the program is for the Spanish speaking people to improve their English. It is not about Spanish at all. In fact, the Spanish are ONLY allowed to speak English for the full six days. And the same goes for the volunteers.

The very word volunteers freaked me out. Oh my god. A group of volunteers. Would I cope, could I cope, what if I hated all of them.

More likely, what if they all hated me.

They didn’t hate me. And guess what. I did not hate them either. Not one of them. Interesting people choose to do these programs and every single person was interesting. Even American Ed who played his guitar till four every morning. Even Spanish Juan Don Emilio Antonio Pedro who looked like he never came up or out of his basement was fascinating. Maybe he was especially fascinating. And even the Welsh volunteer couple who were early twenties and madly in love and had clearly just discovered sex.

They too were fascinating.

Although we didn’t see them as much as we should have!

I learned a whole bunch of stuff on the trip.

That I love Spain.
That I absolutely totally and utterly adore everything about the Spanish people.
That I can eat unlimited olives and drink unlimited martinis.
That I am a good group person.
That it is very nice to socialise with both young and old people.
That it is fantastic to meet people from all over the world.
That Vaughantown is a fabulous Volunteer program.
That I am quite good at breaking rules when I have to.
And that my Spanish is terrible.

I had signed up for the program in Gredos. When you volunteer for Vaughantown, you can choose one of four areas in Spain. I chose Gredos which is at the foothills of the Sierra dos Gredos, a Spanish mountain range. It’s a divine area about three hours out of Madrid, with stunning views, rolling hills, incredible skies with the most unbelievable stars, one very very very old village nearby and one magnificent wide ice-cold refreshing perfect deep delicious river nearby too.

The Spanish people are serious about improving their English. Each one of them – and you have ‘one-on-ones’ with almost every single person – was intense. They pay good money to come on this program and they’re not messing around. And as a volunteer who gets to be in Spain, stay in a luxury hotel, have delicious meals, amazing scenery, great experiences and great company, we didn’t mess around either.

Each one of us was serious about helping the Spanish to improve their English.

And it was fun. So much fun.

There’s a program director. Every day you get a list of who you are meeting and at what time. And then, it’s over to you. You can meet over coffee, sit in the gardens, walk to the river, swim in the river – rules are that you do not do this, I broke these rules a lot – and walk to the village. You can do anything you want really, as long as you chat while you’re doing it.

And chatting is easy. Even if you are introvert, shy, not a group person or just plain silly. Because the Spanish people are all amazing. And interesting. And dynamic. And have stories.

And so it is easy to chat.

I loved Gredos. I think Vaughantown do an amazing job. I made friends that I will continue to be friends with for ever. I met a few fabulous people. A lot actually.

]]>https://violetisonline.com/2018/08/25/a-volunteer-in-vaughantown/feed/8entrancevioletonlineisonlineGredos.jpgMadrid.https://violetisonline.com/2018/08/17/madrid-where-anything-goes/
https://violetisonline.com/2018/08/17/madrid-where-anything-goes/#commentsFri, 17 Aug 2018 17:42:32 +0000http://violetisonline.com/?p=11531Continue reading Madrid.]]>The thing about Spain is nobody asks why you’re travelling alone. It’s just not a thing. Everybody does it. And everyone is different and difference is also not a thing. There are young and old, singles, families, conservatives, tattooed, pierced and very funky people, sexy, straight, gay, very gay and anything in-between.

People sit on their own in bars and in restaurants and they’re cool with it, which is not something I am used to. Each year in South Africa my New Year’s resolution is to learn to dine alone and be comfortable with it.

I never am.

But here, it feels so easy to be alone. And to be anything you want to be. Nothing is questioned. Anything goes. Everyone is okay.

And I feel pretty okay too.

Not defined by divorce, not defined by marriage or children, not defined by sexuality.

I’ve been here for two and a half weeks and I am completely and utterly in love. I spent the first week in Gredos near El Barco de Avila, as part of an English / Spanish program and after a change of plans, the next many days in Madrid.

Madrid has stolen my heart.

I’m in love with the people who are vibrant, carefree, vivacious and also talk at a thousand words an hour. I thought I could speak a little Spanish but I can’t really get past ordering a martini and my favourite olives and anchovies. It doesn’t matter though; the Spanish want to speak English and in fact, they really like to speak English.

Language is why I was here in the first place and Gredos Vaughantown was incredible, but a different kind of love story.

This story is about love for a city! About love for everything Spanish. Right now, right here, in Madrid. It’s the sunshine and the buildings, the water fountains and the narrow streets, the church bells, the Pride flags, the wine, the Cava and the food oh my sweet goddesses the food. I love the Spanish way of drinking and eating. A drink and a tapas here, another drink and another tapas there, a stroll, a drink, always a beautiful sky, one more martini, a few more olives, and finally, dinner.

Alone or with someone, it doesn’t matter.

Because I’m an A type personality, and obsessed with how many steps I do a day, and because I don’t want to miss out on anything, I wake early. And that is when I meet all the dogs of Madrid.

Of course, I am in love with them too.

Everyone here seems to have a dog. Someone told me it’s because people are choosing not to have children. Life is expensive, but also, the world is too precarious to bring kids into it. I don’t know if this is really true because there are many families, but I quite like the sentiment. Everyone should have a dog.

My last love, although I have left out a lot, is that the Spanish are aware. Aware of our planet and aware of our environment. There is hardly any plastic. Gifts and groceries come in brown paper bags and water and milk in glass bottles. If you want a plastic bag, you pay heavily. Everything gets recycled. And second-hand or vintage clothing is big. Consumerism, except for tourists who shop up a storm, is out.

I like this city.

As I’m typing, I’m sitting in my favourite little tapas bar around the corner from my AirbNb. They have a beautiful playlist – some Spanish and some English music. Right now, oddly, they’re playing The Beatles, Eleanor Rigby. ‘Ah, look at all the lonely people…’

Except. It doesn’t feel lonely at all. It feels right. It feels divine. It’s perfect. I’m packing away my writing book and heading to a rooftop bar. It’s my last night in Madrid and they have beautiful sunsets here.

I think I should go and soak it up. With everything else about this beautiful place.

Adios.

And see you again, very soon, dear Madrid.

You had me at the very first olive!

]]>https://violetisonline.com/2018/08/17/madrid-where-anything-goes/feed/3madridvioletonlineisonlineDiscarded bloghttps://violetisonline.com/2018/07/12/discarded-blog/
https://violetisonline.com/2018/07/12/discarded-blog/#commentsThu, 12 Jul 2018 14:04:54 +0000http://violetisonline.com/?p=11528Like an old lover
I come back from time to time
Just to say hello
]]>https://violetisonline.com/2018/07/12/discarded-blog/feed/17hivioletonlineisonlineWhy, Melania, why?https://violetisonline.com/2018/06/22/why-melania-why/
https://violetisonline.com/2018/06/22/why-melania-why/#commentsFri, 22 Jun 2018 11:58:58 +0000http://violetisonline.com/?p=11524Continue reading Why, Melania, why?]]>For the last few months I have felt sorry for Melania Trump. I’ve thought maybe her evil orange husband is abusive, maybe she’s a victim, maybe she’s stuck or trapped or held in chains and fears for her life.

No more.

That jacket.

Why, why why would she wear that jacket.

Because she is more than stupid. She doesn’t care. And she too is evil.

Melania has had plenty of time to speak up and hasn’t done it. She’s made choices. She has stayed by her husband’s side. And she may have swatted away his small fat hand from time to time but it is not enough.

And the daughter, she too has had time to stand up and say no.

She too is evil.

I don’t know why I expect more from women. I just presume that women will be good and kind and humane and do the right thing.

I do not expect them to behave like Nazis.

Or be Nazis.

I’m reading up on Nazi women right now. Erna Petri was 23 with two young children when she came across six starving, terrified, naked boys, hiding on the side of the road. She fed them and then she led them into the woods and she shot them, one by one, in the back of the head.

She wasn’t the only one.

I know we shouldn’t be talking about the jacket. We should be talking about the kids. But Melania’s jacket says it all.